Magic is in the Water

 Magic is in the Water

Another day, another walk home with brand-new scrapes and bruises. David’s mother was going to be mad. She kept telling him that those boys at school were only acting out because they had lost someone too, but who cared? He lost his dad, and you didn’t see him picking on other kids about it! It didn’t help that there wasn’t anywhere else for any kid to go. The closest school outside of Sol Rojo was at least a week’s ride away. If anyone could get out of town. David heard rumors from the other kids saying that no one could leave town anymore, even if they tried. Everyone said it was a curse, that as soon as you left, you’d just show up on the other side of town in a couple of weeks. That was if the ghost and were-coyotes didn’t get you first! He really didn’t care either way, since his only friend was his dad. Well, he hopes it was his dad, maybe?

“Rough day at school, mijo?” An unseen voice spoke to him. 

David pulled out a picture of papa, mama, and him when he heard his voice. “It’s always a rough day!” David yelled back at the picture. Regardless of if this thing was his dad or not, it seemed to be the only one that would talk to him.

Papa laughed, “Yeah, I know. Those kids just pick on others they think they can get one over on.” 

David kicked a rock extra hard on the dusty road home. “Doesn’t matter, mama said not to fight back.” 

“Wait, Stella really said that? My Stella, one of the fieriest women I had ever met told you not to fight back?” 

“Yeah...” David tried his hardest to change the subject. “Mama says I should focus on my work at school and not cause a bigger problem.” Papa always sounded off when he spoke about mama. David couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was as if papa spoke about mama the way people speak about others they only have ever seen, not really known. He means, it sounded like him, but it was always trying to get him to do things he doesn’t think his dad would have told him to do. At least David thought that. His dad passed away a year ago, when he was barely seven. It still hurt not having a papa. 

Papa clucked at him, “Tsk tsk tsk. You’re gonna have to stand up to them eventually mijo. No son of mine is going to let some kids beat him and let them off without a scratch.”

David stopped in his tracks and stared wildly into the sky. “What am I supposed to do? They are bigger than me and stronger than me! Even if I did fight back, I’d still lose.” He hung his head in defeat, trying not to let the tears fall. He figured, though, that if he did cry now he’d be able to keep a brave face when he got home to mama. 

David felt pressure suddenly on his shoulders. “Look, you may not be big and strong in the normal way, but you’re special! If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be talking right now. I know it’s in you, and last time was just an accident. If you showed them what you could do, no one would mess with you ever again.”

David didn’t look up, not because he was crying, but because that was another thing he noticed about papa. When papa started talking to him a couple of months ago, he seemed really bent on getting him to use some “inner power” David had. The first time he tried to do something papa told him to do, he accidentally shocked the dog! It was a big dog, a mutt that tried to look like Irish Wolfhound but just a little smaller. He felt so bad, he told his mama he accidentally hit him with a stick he was playing with. Since then, the dog was cautious when he was around. David also noticed the dog always barked, growled, and jumped at the air when papa was around talking to him. 

However, he knew that papa wasn’t talking about that time. He was talking about what almost happened when he got real angry a week or two ago. The fire his mama told him to light wasn’t starting, so he just thought hard about flames that should have been there and FWOOF! There were flames! He almost caught himself on fire, but it worked! Mama made him promise not to do that anymore, not until they talked to Mr. Washington about it. Something about how he was a magician or wizard, David couldn’t remember. 

“I don’t know papa. I don’t think I can hurt someone like that.” He started to walk down, still looking at the ground as he stepped on it.

As the pressure lifted, it was as if the voice had started getting further away. “They aren’t ever going to stop. Not unless you do something.”

The rest of the walk home was quiet, but papa’s words kept ringing in his head. As he got closer and closer to the small two-bedroom house, he saw the pastor’s wagon and horses strung up outside. Mama always said she missed the old priest that used to talk at the church, but Pastor McConnel did a good job. Even if he wasn’t catholic. Well, he was, but he wasn’t an ordained priest, and he only had a King James Version to teach from. 

Mama always talked to him and his wife after the Sunday service, and they had even invited them over to eat once or twice. They were really nice, and their daughter, Laoise, went to school with him. She was one of the few that didn’t tease him, and even helped him pick up his stuff after one of the bigger boys pushed him down. David couldn’t remember her name, he mostly blushed and tried not to say anything when she was around. She made him feel weird.

As soon as he walked through the door, he was hit with a warm welcome from Pastor McConnell. “David! Good to see you son! How was school today?”

David tried to hide the damage as best as he could. “It was good- um, where is Laoise?”

This distracted mama and the pastor long enough for him to make his way to his room. “Well, she went straight home David. I don’t think she even knows I came here.” As his mama and the pastor gave each other knowing smirks, it was Stella that was the first one to realize the newest bruises.

As fast as the smirk had stretched across her face, it was now gone. “David, come here!” A mixture of anger and concern permeated her words. 

David tensed for a moment, and slowly turned around to face his enraged mother. He knew she wasn’t mad at him, but he hated seeing her upset. She was upset so often, and to think he was the cause sometimes...

“Oh, porbresito. My poor David...” A tear came to Stella’s eye before they flashed with anger. “See what they do to my boy at that school pastor! How can they allow them to just keep doing this him? Every day they hit him, one day there won’t be nothing left!” 

“Look, trust me. If anyone knows what it must be like for you and David, it’s us. The boys at school are just angry like everyone else here. If it helps, I’ll say something during our next sermon.” McConnell couldn’t help but look at David with the same sad look he gave Laoise when she came home crying. The girls were never physically mean, but their words left scars the poor Irish girl would never forget. 

“It doesn’t matter. Papa says-”

Stella immediately stopped him there. “I told you that invisible friend of yours isn’t your papa. He’s merely a figment of imagination.”

“Wait now Mrs. Garcia. Even Laoise has a little friend that only she talks to. It isn’t anything to be upset about.” The well-dressed man took a knee next to the boy and took on an even more soft tone. “Now, what was is it papa told you?”

David got nervous, trying to pick his words carefully in front of the holy man. “Papa said I should stick up for myself. He said no son of mine is going to let some kids beat him and let them off without a scratch.”

“See! Antonio would never say something as foolish as that. He was one of the kindest men I ever knew, and always turned the other cheek.” 

Pastor McConnell gave her an even look before speaking to David again. “David, I’m sorry that you lost your father only recently, but it might be time to stop pretending-”

“I’m not pretending! He really does talk to me! Papa is the only person who really sees what happens and talks to me when I’m alone or walking home.” David took out the picture in the little barely holding-on frame. “See watch. Tell them! Tell mama what you told me, about how I was special. About how I had powers. About the fire and the lightning!”

Pastor McConnell started to get uneasy and flashed a quick look to Stella as the boy started to break down. “David, even at your age, you must understand.” He placed a hand on the quivering child’s shoulder. “Your papa isn’t here anymore. He's moved on, like all the other loved ones that this town had lost.”

 Something flared in David’s eyes, a quick, blue flash. Pastor McConnell quickly took his hand back. 

“You’re wrong! He does talk to me!” and he ran right to the small room that was meant for him and a sibling he would never have. He could hear his mother call after him, but what he couldn’t see was the grown man clad in black stop her. 

Pastor McConnell stayed for quite a while. The short talk bothered him just as much as it did David and his mother, as the two adults tried their hardest to figure out a way to get Marcus, the only man in town that even fooled with this magic stuff, out here to talk to David. The pastor was by no means out of his league, but he knew the best man for the job was Mr. Washington when it came to this crazy stuff. David was also too busy staring at the picture to hear the pastor consul his mother, saying things like “This will past,” and “Everyone deals with a loss at their own pace.”  

When the pastor left, David was awake just long enough to hear his mama in the room next to his, crying and praying. Begging that David be watched over and protected when he left the house. She then turned off the lantern, the only source of light there was, and David was left in the darkness of the house, with a little bit of starlight shining through his dirty window. That was when David decided papa was right, and that he would have to stand up for himself. If not for papa, then for mama.

…

The walk home was uneventful. Papa hadn’t said anything the entire time, and everything was just so quiet without him. He kept thinking over and over again about how he was going to get them to stop messing with him. What David really wondered was if he was going to go through with it. That thought disappeared when he got to the schoolhouse’s fence.

“Give it back! Give it back!” The voice was unmistakable, it was Laoise voice. “I had to earn that with my own money, now give it back Jacob!” 

David ran as fast as he could around the quaint little fence, but already knew what he was going to see. Jacob, the meanest kid he had ever met was already at his stupid tricks. This time he was picking on Laoise and had apparently gotten ahold of her little porcelain doll she always had with her. Now he couldn’t back down, not for mama and not for her. David still had no idea why but seeing them pick on her now made it only that much easier.

Sadly, it couldn’t take the trembling out of his voice. “H-h-hey! Give that back to her before you break it!” David tried his hardest not to sound as scared as he felt.

Jacob only stopped for a second to look over, before handing the doll to someone that always seemed to be hanging around in his posse. They slowly started to make their way towards him, as the other boys kept Laoise from getting it herself.

“Oh! The little yellow-bellied baby wants to play the hero.” Jacob stood directly in the way between David and the boy holding the doll. “What are you waiting for? Come get it!”

David took a second to think, then charged forward only to be knocked on the ground. The teasing never stopped, and soon he was up again. This time he took a run straight at Jacob, just to take a fist to the lip. As his back hit the ground, he gingerly touched his lip to find blood again.

“Come on David! Louisa ain’t never gonna like yah if you can’t play dollies with ‘er!” 

Now Laoise was more upset than ever. “It’s Loaise! Lee-sha, you ignorant pig!” and broke past the boy holding her back long enough to get a good five fingers across Jacob’s face. Jacob didn’t even wait a second to go ahead and push her to the ground as well.

David scrambled to his feet as fast as he could. “Just leave her alone!” This time when he ran at him and put both hands out front as if he was going to just push him. As soon as his palms connected to the taller boy, a flash like lightning and a crack like thunder sent Jacob into the other boy. The two tumbled to the ground, dropping the fragile doll in the dust and dirt.

Jacob crawled on his elbow, fear in his eyes. “What was that! What the hell was that!” He just couldn’t find enough ground to get off his elbows.

“Leave us alone, or else.” David tried to do his best impression of the towns sheriff no one dared to mess with.

“Or-or else what?” Jacob finally found his feet, and tried to make a show of putting his fist up.

David tried to imagine it again, tried to imagine kindling catching on fire. Then FWOOSH! Jacobs shoulder suddenly started to smoke, then little flames started to dance. Jacob screamed, and the other boys used their jackets to pat out the flames. The bell suddenly sounded, but the little gang had already started running for the door. Laoise was already up and made a beeline for the doll.

“Are you okay Laoise?” David tried to get a look over her shoulder at the toy.

After a quick inspection, she let out a big sigh. “Yeah, when they dropped it, I thought they might have broken her head. Seems little Bridget is ok. Um...” She turned around to look at David. “Thank you.” Laoise gave him a quick peck on the cheek then ran off.

David was in shock. That didn’t just work, that really worked! He never imagined that going as well as it did.

“Mijo, you did a great job.” The familiar voice of papa suddenly came to his ears.

“Did you see papa! I did it, just like you said!”

“I saw it all, and remember,” the voice started to drift off “this is just the start.”

One on One

One on One

by Geordan Ashford

“You will never take me alive, Guardian Angel!” the vile Rat King screamed at his pursuer. Minutes ago, his lair was swarming with evil henchmen, stolen goods, and a ridiculous amount of cheese, due to a need to constantly make it clear that the crimes he committed were, in fact, rodent related. He didn’t know why, and quite frankly he never understood how cheese came to be related to the pink tailed vermin he called brethren, and it didn’t matter. All of it had been confiscated by local authorities, and he was now running for his life from a masked vigilante that the police officers had for unknown reasons never decided to arrest. For goodness sake, he was a vigilante, that is just as illegal as being a man who is actually part rat that steals cheese!

He had to shake his head and get back to his focus on not spending the next several years in jail. As he turned down a side tunnel that no one should have known about, he slammed into the caped mad man. He wore an all-white jumpsuit, with a yellow band that covered his eyes, and the ridiculous white cape that didn’t really do anything than offer some flair to the already flamboyant superhero. 

That was another thing that bugged him! This guy was just some guy for all he could tell. Other than the obvious over-study of martial-arts, there was nothing super about him! Maybe it is the cape… 

Finally, after dusting off his pin-striped suit which was now dusty from falling after the sudden impact, the small man held his wrist up to the hero. “Welp, alright, I know the drill, and if I remember correctly tonight is meatloaf in county lockup. Hopefully I will be done with processing in time.”

The stalwart defender didn’t move. “Not this time.”

The Rat King’s shoulders slumped, and a puzzled look came across his pointed face. “What do you mean? Did they run out of meat-”

“Not the meat loaf, Rick. We need to talk.” He started to reach behind him for something that looked like a black-jack. 

“Rick? What is going on?” The Rat King, real name Rick, started to pull his clawed hands back in a hope to defend himself. The Guardian Angel never called him by his real name. I mean, he’d done a lot of crimes but this one didn’t even have the usual hurt bystander. They never killed anyone, but there were the onesy-twosy individuals that needed a hit from the butt-end of a rifle to comply with demands. 

The giant arms of the giant man then came at an unreal speed that sent Rick spiraling into darkness, and the ground. 

…

When he had finally awoken, he found himself in a dark alley, looking up at lights as they danced into the open trunk of an old silver sedan. All the driver really had to do was set it on fire and it would just be like one of a thousand other silver sedans; a real pro could make anyone disappear in the trunk of one of these. 

“Is this a coffin?” Rick got very stiff, as if he was practicing rigor mortis. 

The stranger chuckled, and then spoke in a familiar voice. “No, not this time. You are currently in the trunk of my car. I was waiting for you to wake up before we go in.”

There was no doubt about it, it was the Guardian Angel. He had the same nose, same eyes, same mouth. Not to mention that jet black hair, that started to show a little grey now. It was hard not to get a look at the face of another human being when they usually held you inches from their face by the collar of your shirt, screaming rat-based obscenities. The only difference was the jeans and thick tan jacket that was slightly zipped down to show an olive drab t-shirt. 

“Go in where?” Rick was currently trying his hardest to lift himself up, and get out of the trunk of an old-beater car that didn’t match the car he figured a superhero would drive. 

Once he had gotten out of the back of the car, and tried to fix his suit, the hero gestured to a dingy dive that had several mean looking motorcycles sitting outside. 

“I know it is not the kind of place royalty is accustomed to,” The un-caped crusader made a facetious bow and sweeping of the arm towards the bar, “but it is better than where you should be headed.”

That was another thing that really felt out of place. The Guardian Angel did NOT have a sense of humor. He knew this not only as a matter of personal experience and stories he heard from a cohort of his that dressed like a clown, but it might as well have been an undisputable fact. Water is wet, the dress is white and gold, and the Guardian Angel did not even so much as smile. 

Rick started to step back, towards a nearby alley. “What are you up to Guardian Angel?” It felt as if his intestines were literally tying themselves in knots that were actually shaped like squares. 

The sarcastic gestures of the mask-less superhero slumped and he dropped his arms before drawing himself to his full height and taking a big chest full of air. “Look, if you want to try and make a run for it, go for it. It might take me 30 seconds to a minute, tops, to get back into costume, chase you down, and take you to your cozy cell that I know you will worm your way out of within a week.” 

That sounded like a pretty good plan to the rat-man, who already had a tunnel dug for if he felt like escaping the same night. As he started to slowly turn, he was stopped by the deep voiced man. 

“Or,” and this time he just nodded to the establishment, “we can go in, have a few drinks, and after you have heard what I have to say, I will allow you to go back to cell block B, cell 15, where there is an escape route already dug, Shawshank style.” 

Well, crap, there went that plan. It was Rick’s turn to sigh, and he followed his captor inside. The smell outside of cigarettes and other unmentionable stenches made the knife-like nose of Rick curl, and if it weren’t for the fact that he made his home in a sewer, that enough would have gotten him to ask for jail.

As they reached the door, he leaned down next to Rick’s ear and talked in a barely audible voice. “While we are in here, call me Dave.”

Dave? And immediately as they opened the door, they were met with the load rock music and even stronger smells that Rick had come to expect. Two seats were open near the end of the bar, where the wall and the last seat met. Dave was met with a hearty hello from the bartender, and after making some pleasantries and ordering some drinks, the two just sat there. It wasn’t until Dave had taken his last big gulp that he finally started to speak.

“Alright, so now that we are here, we need to talk about this little work relationship we have.”

Rick started to slowly turn from his barely sipped drink, and give Dave an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Dave once again chuckled at himself.

Rick had to keep himself from yelling in that high pitched voice at the audacity of this man. “This is not work, this is not a job. I am a deformed human who has to live in a tunnel that just streams refuse by me on the daily, and you treat this like a typical job? I live next to a literal river of poop! I mean, for the love of everything holy, do you actually think I enjoy what I do?”

“No, not really. Not that it matters, but it has to suck most days.” Dave took a sip of his newly acquired pint. Rick’s face twisted before just giving up and taking the largest gulp of the night.

“But to be honest, that is why we need to talk. There is no way you enjoy losing day after day to a guy who you figure must have no idea how hard being the villain is. I mean, at the very least it has to be unbearable losing every day to begin with.” He took another sip, then turned towards Rick. “Which is why I need to level with you.”

Rick looked at him while still facing the beer, one eyebrow raised. Dave continued. “If you think hiring a bunch of poor guys who need jobs, committing countless crimes with little to no repercussions, and escaping before having a legitimate trial is any worse than the guy who has to clean up after you, you’re only kidding yourself.”

“Like being the one everyone loves isn’t the best job there is.” Rick shook his head and sipped some more.

Dave then looked forward and scratched his chin that was just now starting to show a 5 o’clock shadow. “Your right, who doesn’t want to be the guy who has to single handedly beat a fortress of men, get constant fractures and concussions from haphazardly made traps, then still has to get up, grit his teeth, and do the right thing, instead of just putting a bullet in your head for kidnapping my girlfriend and dangling her over a pool of angry alligators.”

Rick heaved forward, trying not to spit out his drink before taking a painful swallow. “The woman we caught snooping around was your girl? No wonder you broke Kowalski’s jaw!” This time Rick went ahead and chuckled at what was a very expensive hospital visit. 

David pointed at Rick. “Exactly, which is why I am just going to ask you this favor, which if you ever need the same you can meet me here. This is where I spend my weekends when I’m not dealing with you.” He drained the rest of the beer and called for another. Bartender just shook his head and popped the top off another one.

“Which is?” Rick squinted in the dim light.

“Give me a break. Like an actual break. This time, when you get out of jail, just lay low for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s it?”

Dave took another of those deep breaths they both have had too many of tonight and shook his head. “That’s it,” he huffed.

It never occurred to Rick to just chill out for a week or two, and after mulling it over for a second, he came to his decision. “Alright, sounds good.”

Dave perked up. “Great! Now let me just smoke a quick cigarette, and once we have had our fill, I’ll have a taxi ‘take you to jail’.” He brought up his fingers and did little air quotes for jail. 

“Before we do, I have one question.” The silence grew as if it would consume the entire bar. “Why haven’t you yet?” 

“Haven’t what? Sent you to jail yet?”

“No- I figured that the whole point of forcing me to talk to you in this bar was why you didn’t send me up river yet. Why haven’t you, yah know, shot me?”

“Shoot you?” Dave shook his head. “Honestly, offing you would just kinda hurt, you know? Not to mention that most crime in the city has gone down with you in charge. Anyone that would be committing more serious crimes than robbing a Cheese Cake Factory are worried about stepping on your toes, and me throwing them in jail.” He downed the rest of his drink. “However, if you ever steal my girlfriend again, imma’ bust your kneecaps.”

Dave got up and started to walk away after a second to stretch, and left Rick by himself. Rick tilted his head for a second in consideration, and mostly to himself said “Fair enough.” They finished one more round then the Rat King managed to make a daring escape as he told the taxi to pull over early. He looked up though and realized that he’s best friend and nemesis was on a roof top, casually staring him down like a slightly amused teacher. Rick got back in the car and went to jail.

“You know that Guardian Angel is a drunk right? Who else you know chasing people around on roof tops. The man’s not sane.” He mumbled bitterly to himself, deciding he would only wait two weeks and not a second longer. The taxi driver chuckled at the man dressed like a rat and just did what he was told.

Book finished! But needs readers! -_-

     This one is going to be very short since I am nearing the finishing moments of the book. Only problem is looking for readers feels like everywhere has deemed it inappropriate to ask for even a mild amount of help. I understand there are places to ask for stuff like that, but starving artist shouldn't bring to mind a budget for a proofreader, an editor, a publicist, and who knows what else is necessary to make sure I don't sell a book where I somehow misspelled the main character's name. Even within AMTGARD, a group that not only likes foam combat that I liken to the middle of SCA and full blown LARP (like that means anything to anyone who isn't already interested, I write in jest or whatever), it's hard not to feel like what I call a "creative beggar." Like I already annoy my girlfriend enough by constantly bringing out how I can make our own this or that if I had bees, for example. I couldn't imagine having to be my own bulldog when I'm too stubborn to just admit that good writing isn't enough to sell good books anymore. 

     This blog is honestly my compromise that it's insane to think a book just sent into the void is going to do anything of worth, but I will ask for people to give my book a read only on my platforms for people who follow. I don't want to ever have to do a patreon, I would rather just keep writing and interacting with an audience that doesn't mind telling me what kind of story they want me to write next. I'm already going to have to do that anyway eventually, why not start now? I keep telling friends that I love the idea of this world because all of the new questions are a world full of different cultures who now have access to this unlimited resource that makes most of your thoughts a reality, and how they would interact with such a thing! How often does the Apocalypse almost happen because someone got fancy broke-up-with in Ancient Greece? Some real “if she doesn’t love me, I’ll plague the peasants!” type-stuff. That story isn't bland, but it can apply to more than one place and time. That could've happened even closer in Ancient Egypt, or in the far future where magic no longer has any inherent religious ties anymore because we have Gundam taken over space. Should aliens exist in this kind of world? Considering we don't even truly know where the elves and dwarves come from except from what people authorized even 40k years ago, are these aliens? Are they just lost people who learned to survive? All this is so much more than just one book, and I can't wait to write them! I am so excited to write these books, but terrified of having to actually sell them. 

     I ran into the same problem when making garb so that I can look like a medieval commoner while I basically go have fun participating in actual peasant fights, until the one dude that brought armor shows up and now we have to start using the nerd-spells (highest class healer, I won't let myself off the hook ever). The garb is easy and feels flowy to wear, to the point that if I could bring back wearing just a regular hood in different colors and fabrics I really would that things is awesome for keeping the sun off you, and even doesn't do that bad of a job in the woods to keep the nature off you. People ask me to make them the same stuff I made for me, but why? What is considered good enough to be sold and what should prices be and and and and and...? But all it does is deepen this craving also to go to this local kung-fu dojo, since the type of martial arts I want to get into would directly benefit from traditional weapons training AND the additional lessons in their more "modern" classes. However, trying to write, do martial arts, be a beekeeper, farm, and substitute leaves me hoping I can reach a place eventually where writing facilitates all the other things I want to enjoy, while allowing me the chance to also give back in a more direct way. I think we should try to perfect ourselves as much as possible, and in the Marines one of the lessons is "know yourself and seek self improvement." It's one of my favorites, and that makes sense since if writing allows me too there is so much more I want to do for my community that write nice books. 

     If you made it all the way down here, just comment anything letting me know! I know these can get a little crazy, but I like this more direct type of writing to show what most of my writing starts out as and why even though the book is basically done (yay!) I'd feel like it would be cheating to say that I successfully published a book ready to be published in a month. Thank you so much, whoever it is reading this, and I can't wait for this Friday where I hope to drop one of my earlier short-stories that I remember a professor liking, and even if the story around it is more interesting than the story itself, I feel like this blog is a good little personal place to unload all the stories that are going to go through 50 thousand changes before I decide I can publish what is, in reality, a completely different story and I should've shared both! I promise these string of consciousness writings will be more coherent when I can start affording not to live off of caffeine to keep the writer's block at bay. Sorry, I would've been stumped for the last 3 days figuring out what should be the ending of this book, but instead my heart is beating 300x what it should be, and that means my brain is hard crashing every once in a while but words are being put on pages darnit! 0.o

     Please comment and follow the socials, and let me know what genre you want to see magic in! :D

Magic Most Foul: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The journey of a lot of steps starts with something

Ever since I was a boy, I wanted to be a hero of the realm. Wherever greedy dragons polluted the land and goblins attacked poor families, that’s where I wanted to be. I spent many years of honorable service rising through the ranks. I became a young knight, hoping for the opportunity to prove my loyalty and braveary. Maybe even my willingness to give up my life for others. Instead I found myself in a place called Red Sun, named after a particularly beautiful sunrise that the original settlers saw. Considering that’s the most exciting story to come out of this little village, it can get a little stagnant at times, but I learned to appreciate it. That was until some idiot decided to move into some ruins and start making it everyone else’s problems.

You see, depending on who you ask, magic and how it came about is still a major point of contention. Trying to get a straight answer out of the fae folk or any race that claims magical origins will get you thousands of stories before you get one honest person who says “I don’t know. The magic tree thing seems to make sense though.” Elves, sprites, faeries, gnomes, dwarves, spirits, ghouls, ghosts, goblins,  you name it, all kinds of origins for all kinds of stories. 

My personal belief is that the church and priest I see on Sundays is right, that with the bite of an apple that brought the downfall of man, so too did the knowledge of magic come with the realization they were naked. Then after all that everything else kinda happened. Heck, with how many different creatures can be relegated to the created-in-an-ancient-land-and-escaped, makes me think maybe everyone was human before deciding to use the magic found in the trees or water or whatever to become their own creation. That would explain why so many different creatures from those stories end up being all bitey and lacking anything close to humanity. However at least the wood elves share their apples with the town.

Our little hamlet homes many magical folk too. Between the little bazaar full of odds and ends from the nearby woodlands or the inn that served as the only local tavern, it wasn’t odd to hear a gnome miner complaining to a Dwarf banker over a delinquent mortgage or even the more behaved lizardfolk that came selling all kinds of admittedly well crafted bone jewelry, weapons, clothing, etc. Of course that also meant that the odd troll sometimes would wander into town because of a disease, hunger, or just feeling a kind of way that the town's people didn’t drop enough trash off of Refuse Cliff towards Garbage Cave, their chosen home. 

All this is to explain that this book is meant as a place to explain why although we as knights have vowed off the use of magic, some spells may be necessary to hunt down the rogue ones. Magic isn’t some play thing we can keep casting aside; it’s a dangerous thing that must be planned against. If not because of the obvious lack of limits, but because people themselves are prone to poor decisions. You’re saying that out of all the fireballs, all the swarms of pick-any-flying-insect, all the death and destruction, everyone who calls themselves an archmage at best or necromancer at worst, they could’ve chosen to use this power for taking care of others, but instead came up with five more horrible ways to make people die? Not like the rest of us wouldn’t figure something else out eventually, but all it takes is a wizard getting his feelings hurt and now everyone gets to have a bad day.

This particular trial all started on a normal Tuesday, with an abnormally large troll wandering into town. The market had already been emptied and other than the shouts and cries of fear, nothing was amiss. The main problem was that instead of going for food this time, the troll was currently causing a scene in a magic store of all places. I must’ve been in a good mood, since instead of just severing the arms and legs, putting them in a bag, and sending the big guy back over the cliff to get himself together and act right, I tried asking what was the problem first. He wasn’t destroying anything yet, and seemed to be waiting patiently to my surprise. 

“Hey there, big guy! What seems to be the issue? You aren’t planning on eating a magic man are you?” I said, not yet drawing my sword but the grip was in hand. 

“No, I need the magic man. Ate something bad.” The troll groaned and clutched his stomach. I could see a faint shape poking and wriggling around within, then the shape of a hand pressed the skin taut from within.

After I swallowed my disgust, not at the troll, although he was admittedly a little musty, I asked “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of new spawn?”

“Do I look like a female troll to you?” The poor creature said in between bouts of howling pain.

“I didn’t say that, but I’m not exactly a troll expert either! I’ve read about creatures called seahorses, right? So the male-” His roars of pain cut me off. “The point is that I’ve read many things, and none of them explained what a normal troll birth looks like.”

Behind the counter, a curtain billowed out of the way and revealed the magical owner of the shop. As is the usual case, he had his big pointy hat and long flowing robes that were made out of some kind of material that changes colors depending on the angle you look at it. You know, the usual showy, magic-y stuff. Even the gloves and scarf that hid everything but his long flowing hair and piercing eyes looked magical, but not too gaudy like others I had seen. I’ve had the disdain of putting my eyes upon wizards that wear gems that would blind you just to be around. Our magic person however held a couple different concoctions and potions, and seemed surprised that we were there.

When I saw the look on his face I asked “Did you not know we were here or something? I’m sure that sheet isn’t that good at muffling our voices!” It was hard to even speak over the poor giant’s blubbering.

“I was in the far back.” the wizard said, as if that answered anything. 

The poor beast’s screams cut off any thought I was having outside of fixing the problem at hand. The magical oddities store owner started laying out flasks of all shapes, and were filled with every color imaginable. Including some really ugly ones. 

He took a knee next to his odd patient and asked, “Can you explain to me where the pain is located?” The troll howled and the hand made another imprint through the skin. It must’ve thought I wasn’t getting squeamish enough so it started moving its fingers back and forth, like an adventurer trying to press its way out of a slime. 

“Alright, I can’t concentrate. Cut his head off.”

“What?” 

“He’s in pain and I need to be able to work. Don’t worry, it’ll go right back after a second or two.”

I hesitated, but eventually gave in to the grave demands and pulled my sword. It wasn’t the first time I had to draw a sword on a troll, but this was different. It felt like I was attacking a bear that was missing its claws and teeth.

I patted him on the shoulder and got him to calm down so he could hear me. “Hey big guy, try to hold your chin back. I’m not trying to clip anything that doesn’t need to be cut.”

As I raised my sword he made a little whimper, but complied. Big, dumb, lummox looked so sad, then just relieved. As his head rolled away I grabbed it and held it still. He was still gasping for air, like a fish out of water. The wizard took some ichor that was spilling out and collected it in another flask, before taking out another potion that had the color of rusty nails. He dripped a little on the headless stump, and waited. Then the worst happened; a finger started poking through the neck hole. Then two. Then everything popped out up to the wrist. 

The wizards waved his hand, acting as if this was business as usual, and an unseen force pulled it the rest of the way out of the stomach and was tossed into the corner where it was promptly hit with a bolt of lightning. With all the excitement, I almost forgot my cautiousness against magic. The troll looked up at me patiently, and made me remember that I was holding a living head. Funny how the weirdest things go unnoticed if they just stay quiet…

Anyway, I realized the troll might not enjoy being disembodied and tried to rush whatever the wizard was doing “I’m not an expert of any kind, but wouldn’t fire work better?” I covered my mouth and nose to try and protect myself from the stench emanating from the wound. The smell of an electrified evil hand and the stomach contents of a not-so-picky-eater made for hard breathing. 

The wizard used his wand to poke at everything within reach, studied the wound, made his way over to the hand in the corner, and concluded, “be sure to chew your food thoroughly next time,” and motioned to put the head back where it came from. Instantly the wound was closing around the neck and after only a moment the troll was able to take a big breath.

With the wound close, the troll got up and started walking out. “Wait,” I called out, “You sure you’re ok? That was quite the nasty little event.”

“Yes, I’m good. Thank you for not killing me.” He started to lumber off again.

“Kill you, why would we do that?”

“People don’t often allow trolls to walk around without attacking us.” He said.

I chuckled, since it was technically true, however, “Most often trolls aren’t exactly here to peacefully go about their business too.”

“Fair.” He shifted his attention to “I owe you, magic man. I won’t forget.” 

“Oh, no need for that. You’ve given me something to do for the day,” He extended his hand and jangled a vial of his blood, “If you have any more problems like this one, you can count on the Sorcerer Solomon!”

The troll took the hand in his oversized claws and shook. “I am Chief Grool. Good bye.” and he was gone. Other than the gore that was splattered on a few nearby things, it went a lot cleaner than I had expected. Usually when a troll is looking for something it’s because it’s hungry. I would’ve taken more time to sit there and wonder what brought Grool into town, but decided that it was more worth my time to focus on the hand that was still wiggling in the corner. 

I began to pull my sword and asked, “are you going to need some help with that?”

Solomon pointed his wand at it and the hand began to float, wiggling around like a bug caught in an invisible web it wasn’t going to escape. He made his way towards the counter and shook his head. “No, not at the moment any way sir…?”

“Sir Knight Simon West, but most people just call me Simon.”

“Hm, a humble knight errant. Got any quests or tasks that currently have your attention?”

I chuckled at the flowery words. “I’m no such thing, just a man looking to help while I wander, and this town has plenty of small issues that need a little help.” The response was equally elegant, but the words dripped with sarcasm as they left my lips. The truth was I didn’t have much going on, and it wasn’t like my lord had any pressing business for me to attend to . What I did know is that I didn’t get knighted just to sit in a castle playing with my swords. The world wasn’t safe enough yet for such niceties, or at least my body was not yet broken.

“Regardless, it looks like you might have something of note to deal with soon.” Solomon said without looking up from the arm he was poking.

“How’s that?”

“Limbs don’t crawl around unless they are attached to something. So, either this is just a little wandering experiment, or it’s indicative or a bigger problem that won’t easily go away.” 

“Great,” I replied, “another idiot who read one too many books and has decided to make it everyone else’s problem.”

If he was annoyed by the comment he didn’t show it. “It can’t be that bad! Although, I guess you would end up dealing with the worst of the rabble that can’t understand why forbidden means forbidden.” 

“That’s the problem! In a world where anyone can decide to learn how to create tonics or learn new and exciting ways to advance the world using all this magic we can’t seem to get away from, there are too many people who have decided that raising an undead army or summoning a legion of elementals was the best use for such a tool.” It was something I was quite annoyed by even at that moment.

Solomon shook his head again, this time at me. “For me, magic is as integral to who I am as a hammer is to a smith. It’s how I create my best work.”

“I wish everyone thought like that. Do you need me to do something to help discern just how much trouble is coming my way?” I was feeling quite useless standing there.

“If it’s what it seems, we will be in a lot of trouble. Regardless of what I think it’s always smart to check with an expert in unholy magics first, of course.”

“Oh yes of course! Would hate to mix up our ghouls, zombies, and revenants.” I meant that in a half joking manner, but trying to use the wrong tool on the wrong beast is a sure way to get it thrown back at your face. Or through your chest. Whichever happens first really. Solomon shot me a look though, so I finished up giggling at myself before actually contributing to the conversation. “Where are we supposed to find such a person? Red Sun isn’t exactly oozing with magical talent, nefarious or otherwise."

 “True, but every town has a church. Do you know anyone who is required to be as well read as a priest on such matters?” He smirked at the irony. “Take this small sample and take it to the local holy man. He should be more than capable in the capacity to check my work and make sure I haven’t made an erroneous diagnosis.”

“Sounds good to me! Be back in a moment.” And with a small vial containing a piece of undead flesh, I was off. It wasn't like I had much else to do other than sit around somewhere else, and who knew, maybe he was wrong! Maybe magic tomfoolery wasn’t going to be a humongous problem for once. And maybe I wasn’t going to get an ear full for missing Sunday's sermon…

…

“Samson! I didn’t see you Sunday, I was worried!” Father McConnell called from the top of the steps. He always seemed to be in a cheerful mood, and out of all the hypocrites and rules loyalists, he wasn’t one of them. I appreciated that about him. Many others in his position often missed the point of the book they preach from and stopped being servants to their fellow man, but not McConnell. He was an old Irish man who treated the world like everyone was another adoptive son or daughter.

“Sorry to worry you father was busy that day sadly.” I called back to him as I ascended the holy steps.

He chuckled until I was in range for him to just whisper, “Busy sleeping in I bet.”

I didn’t even try to argue with him. “Sadly though, I’m not here on holy business,” I held out the vial to show the squirming mass, “I was sent by a sorcerer named Solomon. He thinks this little piece of rotten flesh raises a cause for alarm. So he’s asked for an expert in the unholy to give an opinion.” I smirked at him a little, knowing my words would rub him the wrong way. Even clergymen need to be given a hard time sometimes, if for no other reason than to keep us all humble.

“I’m not an expert, but I can divine the nature of our troubles well enough.” He took the vial in his hand, and turned it over and over. He whispered something to it, and it started smoking. “Great, and where did this piece of flesh come from?”

I looked at him surprised, “How did you know it was flesh?”

“Because the Church has many defenses against many evil creations. One of the more understood enemies is the undead, which can easily be dispatched with a holy incant or two.” Father McConnell handed back the vial that had filled with smoke, “however that piece took a little bit more effort than just a simple prayer to dispatch. What did it come from?”

“A hand, which still had a wrist and a few inches of forearm still attached.”

“Figures. I guess that means I better have a talk with this sorcerer. I need a moment to grab some things from inside.” He disappeared before I could answer. I had assumed he wanted to come with me to talk in more depth than I could carry back to Solomon.

After a short while, the father walked back out in his walk-around garb and giant sun hat. He carried with him a nice quarterstaff he used as a walking stick, and I remember thinking it odd that he had a pack on. Before I could ask anything, he spurred me forward down the stairs after him, into the street. It was a simple dirt road that connected the buildings together, but wasn’t much more advanced than a well trodden goat-path. We passed by all the same places I had just passed by a little bit ago, and made our way back into the heart of the marketplace. 

Father McConnell spoke pleasantly, saying “What a wonderful day to get out and about! If it wasn’t for this little bit of darkness brewing, I’d still be standing on those steps waving at everyone else enjoying the day.”

“Nice to put those legs to use, eh?”

“And arms, and head for that matter.” He smirked.

“Oh come on now! I’m sure there is plenty of fun to be had spending all day amongst the dusty rooms and tombs and tomes!” I jested.

He gave me a serious stare, “It would be more fun gathering the research than reading about it. After you read about the tenth or twentieth creature whose entire goals boil down to ‘eat people,’ it gets dreadfully boring.”

“Like trolls?” I said hoping to bait him into saying something he would immediately regret after I told him about Grool.

“I meant the more nefarious denizens that are trying to sate more than just hunger, but trolls are quite the fascinating subject to read on.”

“In what way?”

“They’re a magical creature that works on a basic set of instincts, but are intelligent enough to have tribes and chieftains. Between them and elves, the common theory is that they are just another corrupted string of humans that can’t remember what created them.” He sounded spaced out. The rote dogma didn’t seem to interest him much.

I tried to dig a little bit, “What about you? What do you think happened?”

He sighed, “the more you read, the more you realize the only person who knows anything at all isn’t coming back until the very end.” 

Another honest answer as always, I remember thinking. I considered myself well-read enough compared to many of my own comrades, but in a world where the only people allowed to read everything and anything was the Church, I was a mere fool. God’s servants were tasked, as he put it, to read everything and decide whether it deserved to exist. We never had a book burning in our town of course, Father McConnell never called for one, preferring to lock such materials away. I don’t think he would’ve locked any away if it wasn’t for the whole summoning monsters on a good day and consorting with demons on a bad day.

We arrived at Solomon’s emporium of bad ideas, and found Solomon still openly messing with an undead hand on the front counter. Were we one of the more zealous hamlets, he would’ve probably been executed on the spot, but the padre had a different plan.

“Ohhhhh,” he could barely hide his disdain for the severed limb, “it’s one of those, huh?”

“So we agree?”

“If you’re thinking of a Murderer's Hand, then yes we are in agreement.” Father McConnell held a sleeve up to his nose.

“It doesn’t smell that bad does it?” Solomon jeered.

Unphased by the sorcerer’s condescending tone, he answered “The taint of evil coming off that foul thing fills me with a deep desire to bathe it in radiant light, but that would ruin our only way of finding what woke this horrid abomination up.” I had never heard the father speak like he was five seconds away from delivering a fire and brimstone type sermon, but he was a very good priest after all. I wondered how such a holy man tolerated an unholy land for so long.

“What is it?” I finally interjected.

“It’s the hand of a murderer, just as the name implies.” Solomon tried the sarcastic tone again but my face told him to reconsider. “Okay that part is obvious, but this specific specimen raised itself!”

“Like Je-?” I started to say before I felt an oddly strong fist smack my chest. The father had struck me with the back of his hand to stop me from saying something stupid.

“No, not like our Savior at all son. The blood these hands have shed infuses the body part itself with dark energies, unholy magic the church would say." His voice turned all academic for a second and looked Solomon in the eyes like scholars do, “It’s actually how we can use certain rituals to varying degrees of success to sift out suspected criminals.” 

Solomon continued as if both were giving me a lecture on an important subject, “The summoning of a large amount of undead can lead to even stronger, unholy creatures getting attracted to the source, which is why you end up with so much evil garbage in forgotten ruins and derelict castles. Even ancient artifacts with forgotten histories can suddenly awaken themselves and next thing you know-”

“-you get evil hands that crawl on their own.” McConnell added.

I rubbed my chest, thinking for the first time about how I’ve never actually seen what is hiding beneath that man’s sleeves. “Okay good to go, so now what?”

“Now you go grab your equipment, maybe find ourselves a guide, and we should take care of this immediately.” Solomon was packing as he gave the order.

“Wouldn’t it be better to leave in the morning?”

The priest tightened his grip around his staff, “the Lord willing, we might be able to bump into a few things that would be better dealt with in the forest than wherever the hand was going off to gather.” I’d worked with Father McConnell on a few excursions. He really didn’t like what he deemed unholy, which was anything that would bring harm to anyone in town, human or otherwise. 

“Well, then, I’ll be off and get my things!” I’ve never seen that man do anything but smile. If it was serious enough to leave in the middle of the night, and serious enough that the priest was packed and ready to go just from looking at a small chunk of meat, I didn’t need much more of an explanation. I would retrieve my things from the guardhouse, and pick up an old friend from the tavern. There was an old Dwarf bounty hunter I’d need to have a drink and a chat with before we could set off.

Thank you so much for reading this chapeter of my book, coming out on the 30th! Please do me a favor, and follow the pages and let me know what you think about this first chapter. Please do be aware that this entire things is a one man venture, so any kind of constructive feedback would be amazing, even to the nitpicks got I missed while proofreading. Thank you again and I hope you all get a chance to read "Magic Most Foul" coming at the end of this month.